Sue thanked Heaven there were no hotel guests or staff left in the room.
That evening, Sue tackled Jonathan about bar hours: buoyed by her parents concern she was prepared to risk another shouting match. They were sitting reading the Sunday papers in the bungalow, leaving Stephen alone to cope with any bar trade. “So few people ever use the bar in the afternoons, it doesn’t seem worth being open between two and six o’clock. Shall we try closing each afternoon and see how—”
“No!” Jonathan didn’t look up from his paper.
“Why not?”
“I said no! I won’t hear of it!”
Sue was not prepared to give up without a fight. “Well we cannot afford extra staff and I’m certainly not going to continue exhausting myself with work I consider unnecessary.”
The Sunday Times was twisted into a stiff rod in Jonathan’s powerful hands before being hurled through the open window. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m the one who keeps the books. I know what is necessary or unnecessary, so I make the decisions. Right?”
Still she stood her ground. “No. Wrong. I am the one who has stood behind that bar all summer, and I know darn well that the gross takings don’t cover the wages.”
“That’s why you are doing it, for nothing.”
“Only while Jimmy is ill . . .”
“He’s not ill.”
Sue frowned. “Well, why isn’t he back?”
“I sacked him. He was the sort of unnecessary extravagance you complain about so often.”
“And you never told me?”
He sighed dramatically. “I was trying to avoid hearing you make another scene.”
Sue stood up and in an ominously quiet voice said, “Very well. Tomorrow I will give Nanny two week’s notice, and I will take over as mother and housewife. You can sort out the bar hours with whomever you employ to replace me.” She picked up her empty coffee cup and newspaper. “I’m going to bed now. Goodnight.”
“Damn you, woman,” he screamed. “Come back here.”
She closed the door behind her, very gently.
*
Sue was as good as her word: when she handed Nanny her wages envelope the following day, she gave her a fortnight’s notice. The work she had been covering at the hotel, other than in the bar, she redistributed amongst the other staff and, with Emmy helping out two mornings per week at home, she launched happily into full-time motherhood.
*
“Jonty, darling, I think you and I ought to have a little chat,” Jessica told him. “Let’s go for a walk in the garden, shall we? Can you manage the chair by yourself?”
“Mother! I’m busy!”
“Of course, dear. But I’m sure you can spare me ten minutes or so of your time.”
Jonathan scowled and grunted. But Jessica was standing in the doorway of the office, waiting: he couldn’t refuse to accompany her without an argument and he’d had enough of that in the past week. He released the brakes on his chair. “Okay. Lead on.”
Molly was left in charge – a role which greatly enhanced her feeling of self-importance. She flicked her long, blonde hair back over her shoulder and smiled as they left.
“Haven’t the roses been marvellous this year?” Jessica bent to appreciate the scent of a dark red hybrid tea.
She was stalling, so he followed suit. “In a manner of speaking. I wish that blasted Albertine over the front door didn’t make such a mess, though. Rotting petals everywhere being trodden into the hotel.” He stopped the wheelchair by a bench seat on an enclosed area of crazy paving, just off the path.
She stood fingering the petals of a hydrangea.
“So what’s this all about? What’s on your mind?”
Jessica arranged herself comfortably on the wooden seat. “You, my dear. I’m very much afraid you have been making some serious mistakes, lately.”
He sighed. “Go on.”
“Whether you are aware of it or not I don’t know, but you are being very cruel and unkind to Sue.”
“Oh God! Don’t tell me she’s been whining to you, too!”
“No she has not! She hasn’t said a single word to me about you . . . or about the way you overwork her and speak to her in front of the residents as though she is dirt!” Which was absolutely true – Sue had not spoken to her on the subject; what Jessica didn’t add was that she had been briefed by both Sarah and Stephen about what was going on. Not that she hadn’t suspected as much for some time.
“Well, then I’d like to know who the hell—”
“That is not the point at issue. What is worrying me is that if you go on like this both your business and your marriage will collapse.”
“Go on like what?” he stormed. “This is all bunkum!”
“How dare you raise your voice at your mother in that fashion! Control yourself! Now you listen to me,” she said severely, “Everybody was very upset and sympathetic about your accident and we are all sorry for you being so disabled. However, not even that excuses you for your foul and abusive temper and the way you treat Sue. Everyone has a breaking point, remember, and I assure you Sue is very near hers.”
“Really?” he asked with heavy sarcasm. “Well, let me tell you, Sue is fine! She has run out on the business and plays about at home with the children all day, refusing to come back. I came out here with you because I thought you were worried about my breaking point! But of course no one thinks about me!” With his powerful arms he swung the chair back towards the path. “I cannot imagine why you are fussing about Sue.”
Jessica got up to follow him. “Then you had better get your imagination working a bit harder. Can you remember the last time you took her out for a meal? Or made her think you truly cared about her?”
“More times than I could possibly recall,” he snapped over his shoulder, before disappearing round the corner of the hedge.
Jessica turned away to stare, unseeing, at the boisterous sea beyond Port Grat.
Her efforts, however, were not entirely fruitless.
Back in his office, Jonathan slammed the door and poured himself a whisky. His expression was grim, brooding. Bloody women! What the hell was his mother on about, anyway? Sue hadn’t done that much . . . He pulled a spiralled notebook towards him, and uncapped his pen to begin a list.
He hadn’t got very far when there was a knock on the door and without invitation one of the residents came in bristling with military aggression, moustache quivering. “Now look here, Martel, old chap, we’d like to know what the devil’s going on. Huh? Yesterday the wife and I said nothing, thinking our room had been accidently overlooked. But here we are waiting for the luncheon gong, and once again our room hasn’t been touched, not even the bed made. And, what’s more, not a chambermaid in sight!”
“Damn! How appalling!” Jonathan exploded. “I really am most awfully sorry! I’ll get someone on to it immediately!”
“Hrm. Well. Very well then. Er, thank you.” Anger deflated, the red face and moustache retired.
Jonathan rang the reception desk and Molly came in.
“Yeah?”
He winced. “Who was doing the bedrooms this morning?”
“Marilyn.”
“Where is she now?”
Molly shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Well find her and send her to me!”
The blonde stepped back, open mouthed. “Awright!”
‘Supervision of daily guest room cleaning’, he wrote. That wasn’t so difficult. What else?
He was still thinking of the next item when Marilyn arrived. “Molly says you want me.”
“Why wasn’t Major Potter’s room done this morning?”
She hung her head. “Wasn’t time.”
“Why not? All the rooms are always done, every morning.”
“Yeah. But with Mrs Martel not being here . . .”
“What difference does that make. She doesn’t do the actual bedmaking and cleaning herself, does she?”
The girl stood on
one leg, rubbing the back of her calf with the toe of her other shoe. “No, not always. But she sorts things out what goes wrong.”
“What things?”
“Like when the vacuum cleaner don’t work. Or when some kid’s thrown up on the carpet, like today. Took me ages to clean it up and it don’t look too good, yet.”
“I see. And what was your excuse yesterday?”
“The flood.”
“What flood?”
“Remember the water was switched off while Bert replaced a washer in the kitchen?” Jonathan shook his head. “Well it was. And seems like the people in number four put the plug in their basin, turned on the taps and got nothing. So they left it and went out. There was water everywhere. The carpet was soaked and the bedclothes what hung down off the bed was dripping. Took a long time. I had to strip the bed right off and—”
“Yes, yes. But what difference would it have made if Mrs Martel had been here?”
“Well . . .” the girl spread her hands, “she’s the one what sorts out all the problems. There’s always something what takes time to fix. She cleans the beach tar off the floors and towels. And she unstops the drains. Last week a little boy in number six broke a window. That had to be seen to. And she’s good at putting the legs back on the beds . . .”
Jonathan held up his hand. “Okay, Marilyn. That’s enough. You can go.” He sat gazing at the blank lines on the notebook for a long time, remembering other mini-dramas Sue had coped with; not just upstairs, either. Neurotic chefs, clumsy waitresses, explosive boilers . . . and the pump bringing beer up from the cellar, which went on strike at least once a week.
There was no one in the bar after lunch. Molly was sitting on a stool reading a weekly magazine of Love Stories when Jonathan wheeled through the door. She didn’t look up, and he went out again, sat in the foyer looking out of the open door. Finally, pursing his lips, he rolled the chair out onto the path and headed for the bungalow.
He found Sue playing on the lawn with the children. “Hallo!” he called.
“Daddy!” Roddy rushed across the grass to hurl himself onto his father’s lap. Stephanie waddled after him.
“What are you playing?”
“Injuns. Mummy made us a wig . . . wiggy . . . tent wiv rugs. Come an’ see!”
The ‘wigwam’ was suspended on string from a tree branch, and pegged out with meat skewers. Jonathan peered through the door flap and saw cushions, bakelite plates and mugs. “Having a picnic tea in there, were you?”
“No! We was eating bison for lunch,” Roddy corrected him. “Mummy and me shot it wiv our bows and arrows.”
His parents grinned at each other.
“Feeling better, dear?” Jonathan asked.
She wanted to demand ‘than what?’ Instead she nodded. “It’s lovely out here with the sprogs. I must try to do something about the garden for next year.”
“Why don’t you get Bert to help you. The hotel garden needn’t take all his time.”
“True. Okay, I will.” She couldn’t help wondering why he was being nice, and waited for him to start again trying to persuade her back to the hotel.
But he didn’t. “Seems ages since we had any free time together,” he reached for her hand. “Why don’t we go off to a restaurant for dinner one evening? Like to?”
Which made her even more suspicious, but she responded with enthusiasm. “Love to! Where have you in mind?”
*
The evening proved a great success.
For the first time Sue had an opportunity to wear the dress Aunt Filly had made her last year: a floral cotton with a wide, square neckline and deep-flounced skirt cut so full it flared and swayed as she walked.
“You look lovely!” Jonathan said as she pirouetted for him in the hall while they waited for the taxi. “Why haven’t I seen that dress before.”
Sue was so thrilled to be going out she had no wish to tell him why he hadn’t seen it. She had suggested the Restaurante Belle Vue on the Esplanade, the only place she could think of which was convenient for wheelchairs.
Jonathan was almost his old, charming, witty, decisive self, ordering Sue’s favourite aperitif without asking her, discussing the menu and choosing for them both before ordering a bottle of Sancerre to accompany their first course and an expensive Pauillac to follow.
“We’ll be pie-eyed by the time we get through both bottles,” Sue commented, wondering if at last his mental frustrations were fading – like the scars on his face.
“Excellent. It’s time we got a bit tiddly together.”
“But I can feel this martini hitting my knees already!”
He picked up her hand, turned it over and kissed the palm. “I’ve been too pre-occupied to notice how tired you were. Now I want to see you relax and enjoy yourself.”
The martini had lowered her guard. Instead of meeting his words with dubious, if silent, cynicism, she allowed herself to wallow in them, purring a response to the gentle pressure of his fingers on her own.
The Cocquilles Meuniere were tender as cream, and likewise the duckling under its crispy skin. They nibbled cheese while finishing the Pauillac, then had a bowl of late strawberries each, with fresh Guernsey cream.
They knew the taxi driver quite well; fortunately he was accustomed to helping Jonathan in and out of his wheelchair and into the car because Sue announced her own legs could not be relied on.
Falling into bed together, giggling, they kissed, and stroked, and kissed again. Jonathan had lost none of his old technique, taking her winging through the mists of passionate love until, with a deep sigh, she relaxed every muscle in her body and drifted into a sweet, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Eight – Lost and Found
“I was wondering if Mummy could come up for the day on Wednesday,” Sue told her father when he answered the phone.
“I know she’d love to, dear. But would it be possible for you to come here instead?”
“Could do. Any particular reason?”
“Only that your mother has been a bit off colour, lately. I’ve tried to persuade her to get the doctor but she refuses.” Greg didn’t add that he had been very worried by Sarah’s recurring bouts of sickness and diarrhoea. He didn’t want to cause alarm.
When Sue arrived on Wednesday morning with the three children, Sarah was looking perfectly fit though she had lost some weight.
“You getting into shape for a bathing beauty contest?” Sue joked.
“I’d certainly need to. I couldn’t get into my swimming costumes of a few years ago when I tried them on in the spring.”
Sue eyed her mother’s figure objectively. “Hmm,” she grunted, “They’d fall off you, now. Have you seen the doc lately?”
“Two or three months ago when I twisted my ankle. Now,” she smiled at the children, “Are you all hungry? Come and see what Grandma has for your lunch.”
The little ones were excused from the dining room when they had finished eating and dashed outside to play in the autumn sunshine, leaving Sarah and Sue to chat over their coffee cups.
“Have you been out for another meal with Jonathan, à deux?” Sarah asked, remembering how happy Sue had looked a few weeks ago.
“Er, no. We seem to have been so busy, recently.” Sue flushed: Jonathan’s snarling response to her suggestion that they repeat the outing, still hurt. She had loved every minute of that evening and believed he had, too, until last week when he had told her in no uncertain terms that as far as he was concerned it had been a disaster . . . boring beyond belief!
Sarah knew that Sue was fibbing. The season had not been good and there were few autumn guests this year. Normally she would have challenged Sue for the truth, but unfortunately she was feeling queasy again . . .
“What’s up, Mum?” Sue got up in alarm. “You’ve gone a funny colour!”
“I think I must have eaten too much, dear. If you’ll excuse me a minute I think . . .” Sarah doubled up in pain. Her legs felt weak and she knew she was going to retch.
Sue helped her to the bathroom. “I’m leaving the door ajar. Call me if you need help.”
Afterwards Sarah allowed herself to be led into the bedroom to lie down.
“You stay put, Mummy. I’ll clear up. The kids are quite happy in the garden.” But as soon as she left the room, Sue picked up the phone and dialled the surgery.
*
“I want to operate,” the doctor told Greg two months later. “I’ve done every test and examination possible, and apart from establishing that Sarah has a large unidentifiable lump in her abdomen, I cannot make a more accurate diagnosis without going in to see what it is.”
Cancer was not a word to be spoken out loud: one knew about it, knew it could attack different parts of the body in various forms, and one could, when asked, disclose that the patient had a stomach problem or a bad leg or a blood disorder, but doctors knew that neither the patients nor their relatives wished to hear the dreaded word.
Greg nodded at the family doctor who was both physician and surgeon, carefully avoiding eye contact. “I am sure Sarah will want you to do whatever you think best. As always, we are in your hands.”
Sarah came out of hospital in time for Christmas, looking and feeling worse than when she went in, despite assurances from the medical staff that the problem had been removed and she should soon begin to feel better. She was determined it should be so, and the doctor had no intention of telling her, or Greg, that her womb and colon were distorted by a massive carcinoma.
“Your mother is looking much better today, don’t you think?” Greg smiled encouragingly at Sue a week later.
“Yes. Ever so much. Aren’t you pleased with your progress, Mummy?”
“Indeed!” Sarah enthused. “I’m longing to tuck into a good Christmas dinner.” Her skin was a dreadful yellowish grey, drawn over the sharply defined cheekbones. Her hands were wrinkled claws.
In their hearts all three guessed the truth, yet none were prepared to admit it yet, even to themselves.
The big act carried them all through Christmas. Greg supported Sarah out to the car and drove her and Richard to Port Grat, where they stayed at Hotel La Rocque over the festive season and into the New Year. The residential part of the hotel was closed until Easter, though the bar remained open to locals as usual, so they had the whole dining room to themselves for a family party. Ted, Julia and Stephen joined them, and Jessica, who spent a lot of time sitting with Sarah. Edna and John came, too, the latter taking occasional turns behind the bar with Greg. Without the seasonal staff Sue was in charge of cooking, which was considerably easier than putting up the decorations with the dubious help of her children. It was hard to feel the Yuletide spirit, blow up balloons, pin the paperchains to the picture rails and hang baubles and tinsel on the Christmas tree, without the thought that this must be her mother’s final Christmas bringing a lump to her throat. Edna insisted on helping in the kitchen and when he wasn’t out with friends, Sue’s brother Richard helped entertain the little ones. They adored him, followed him like sheep and Roddy in particular mimicked his every move and word: not always appreciated when these were some of the more popular and prevalent used by Richard’s peers at Elizabeth College.
The Guernsey Saga Box Set Page 44